A Droughtful Tale
by Gail Lucinda Autor
Summary: Despite an ongoing drought, the summer at Redwall has been peaceful. Old friends drop in for a visit, accidentally brining trouble in their wake, and soon enough the Redwallers are once again fighting for their freedon, their Abbey, and their lives.
1. Chapter 1: Abbey Summer

Ch. 1

The young squirrel sighed and rested his head on the oak tree behind him. It was your average lazy summer day at Redwall Abbey-if only it would rain! The pond was low and what was left had to be used for cooking, drinking and wash, so he'd spent his afternoon carrying buckets from the river on a yolk across his back to the orchards and the crops.

He rubbed his aching neck and sighed. His mum, Abineaire, had asked him if he'd wanted to stop almost three hours ago, and if truth be told he had. But he'd only just now stopped, because that was when the other squirrel helping had.

_Think of the devil..._A tap on his shoulder caused him to turn, and there was Tulia, his arch-rival, the squirrel lass he had been carrying water to beat. She was holding a water jug and a ladle. "Figured you'd be thirsty, Achten," she said cheerily. "I'm beat. Good show out there today." He only nodded, feeling so tired he wasn't sure if he'd ever speak again. He took the jug from her and set it on the ground beside him, dipping out half a dozen ladlefuls and downing them all before his thirst was satisfied. Tulia smiled widely and sat wearily beside him.

"I wish it would rain, don't you? I've been dreaming about thunderstorms, and I'll wake up and walk outside, wondering where the puddles are." She laughed, a sound like bells-not like the enormous bells in the Abbey bell tower, but more like sleigh bells in the winter: high and musical. Just the thought of winter made Achten long for snow on his tongue. He managed a weak smile but said nothing. Tulia was a chattery squirrel; always full to bursting with words. Achten didn't usually mind much, but sometimes he just wanted to be left alone.

Then again, it was an improvement from the emaciated, silent, wounded, filthy little squirrelmaid that had been brought to Redwall a few years ago by a group of lady warriors-they called themselves the Rivermaid Runners-who had rescued her from a group of slave drivers "far away by the place where the river meets the sea." It had taken her almost a year, but Tulia had revealed herself to be bright, lithe, bouncy, and outgoing. Just the thought of Tulia's former self made Achten shudder, and he directed his thoughts elsewhere.

Tulia chattered on until at last she grew weary and fell silent. They sat drowsily in the stuffy shade for a long while, watching the bees buzz lazily—or was it tiredly?-by. The grass itself seemed to wither before their very eyes.

_Dong! Dong! Dong! _The low, rich tones of the twin bells in the tower resounded strongly across the Abbey grounds. The two young squirrels roused themselves from their stupor and got to their weary paws, hurrying into the Abbey for supper. Achten thought he would surely drown in his own spittle, his mouth watered so when he saw the spread: Mole deeper 'n' ever pie, otter hotroot stew ("ain't nothin hotter for an otter!"), fresh summer salad, peach tarts, mashed potatoes with butter and blackberry sauce, honey bread, fish with cheese and tomatoes, dandelion and strawberry cordial, and plenty of other food and drink. Raspberries, strawberries, cherries, blackberries, and peaches swimming in meadowcream served as a delectable dessert.

Achten sighed as he sank back in his chair, feeling full, sleepy, and dreadfully fat. Abbess Josine rose at the head of the table. The pleasantly plump little vole looked sore, too, and slightly hunched over. She had been carrying water along with the rest to save the crops from death by dehydration. She was determined to be right up there with the strongest of laborers, and she had managed to carry water as long as Nora, the resident badger of Redwall. It was showing, though, and she winced slightly as she lifted her head to look at her people.

Josine did not have the squeaky voice usually associated with rodents. Her voice was round and full in a very pleasant way, and her clear words echoed around Cavern Hole as she spoke to the Abbey residents. "I want to thank all of those who helped to carry water today," she called. "It was a great help and I'm sure the crops will flourish under our care. The water we carried today should last them three days if not longer, so I expect everyone who helped today to spend tomorrow relaxing and perhaps stretching off the soreness I'm sure we'll all be dealing with for a few days." A wry smile twisted her lips and Cavern Hole rang with laughter and cheers from the relieved water carriers. "And now it's time the little ones were off to bed, and perhaps some of the older ones, too." More chuckles. The Dibbuns raced away from the table, shrieking with laughter and complaints. Nora, Abineaire, and two mousemaids called Laurel and Mirabelle all shot after the mischievous little ones. Laughter echoed through the Abbey on that tired summer evening, across the grounds and through the woods….


	2. Chapter 2: The Rivermaids

Ch. 2

Whilst all this was going on, the Rivermaid Runners were making camp in a thick piece of forest by a stream not far from Redwall.

"When will we get there?" chirped Lillian, a bright, lithe young mouse who had joined the Rivermaids but a year ago. She had never been to Redwall, and she was nearly bouncing with excitement as she lifted the canvas of one of their four tents and slid a pole into place with practiced ease.

"Soon," promised Gail, an older and more experienced otter who had been to Redwall many times before.

"Mmm…" sighed her sister, Jane. "I can simply _taste _the hotroot stew, can't you, Gail-y Girl? You know what they say…" The sisters looked at each other and cried in unison, "Ain't nothin hotter for an otter!" The group erupted into one of those fits of giggles that girls, ladies and women alike are bound to have quite often.

"'Otroot stew? Did I just hear you speak of 'otroot stew?" A large, honey colored hare named Ruby stepped from a tent she had just finished erecting. "Ah, the Redwall spread! To die for, m' friends, to die for, wot wot!" A dreamy look crossed the hare's eyes. "Mmm…makes the ole mouth water, I say! E'en ole Mary's cooking can't compare. No offense meant, Mary gel," she added hastily.

"None taken," smiled a delightfully plump hedgehog, who was stirring a pot of hot water and tossing things in here and there. "That dear old friar William certainly knows what he's doing. Janey Girl"-the Rivermaids all called each other '-y Girl' affectionately-"Be a dear and grab those orange peels out of m' bag, would you? There's a good lass." Jane obligingly passed over the scones and smelled the soup that was brewing.

"Mm, smells delightful. Another one of your secret recipes, Mary Girl?" she chuckled.

"Has anything I've ever cooked for you all ever been less than secret?" Mary winked. The group roared with laughter; they all of them liked to joke that Mary made all her recipes secret so that she wouldn't have to reveal all the wild ingredients that she threw in in an almost haphazard manner. She gave them names like 'That Brew' and 'This Stinking Concoction', for a particularly troublesome potful. Her soups and stews had never been less than satisfactory, though, and none of them had ever taken ill off of them. So the secrecy, as it was, didn't matter quite so much.

"It'll be This Crazy Cauldronful tonight," Mary grunted as she sniffed it.

"Would that be the same Crazy Cauldronful we had last week, Mary Gel?" Ruby asked with a chuckle.

"No, I ran out of _that," _Mary said, sprinkling in a very generous pawful of some sort of spice, "so I've got to use _this _instead," she continued, dropping in a few leaves with a flourish.

"Makes so much sense," giggled Gail, flopping down on the grass once she was done setting up the third tent. A collective sigh rolled serenely up from the group as a cool breeze ruffled their fur. "I do wonder," Gail said after a time, "if when we reach Redwall, we'll see that lovely squirrlemaid again, what was her name…"

"Tulia," Jane chimed in.

"Tulia! Yes, that was it. I do hope she's still there." Gail sighed and watched the sun sink over the trees.

"Who's Tulia?" Lillian asked, sitting down beside Ruby.

"A squirrelmaid we rescued from some slave drivers down by the sea a few years ago. She wouldn't say a word to us at first, but the last time we were at Redwall she was one of the sweetest, gentlest, brightest little gels you ever did see," Ruby explained. "I do hope she hasn't gone out to seek her fortune or some such nonsense, wot!"

"Ruby Girl, isn't that why you left Salamandastron and formed the Rivermaid Runners in the first place?" Mary chided.

"Yes it was, Mary Gel," Ruby said, looking very serious, "but that don't mean that every wild gel in the world ought to run off like I did." The Rivermaids laughed happily together through the stifling summer evening. All was right with the world.


	3. Chapter 3: And Into The Enemy Camp

**Author's note:**

**I've been tracking the traffic of my stories and I know at least a few people have read this, right? I'm kinda sad at the lack of reviews, however. Please, guys! Just one tiny little review. You have no idea how much that would motivate me.**

**Also. In a far more serious and mournful tone, I announce the death of dear Brian Jacques on February 5th of this year, 2011. Brian, the rest of this story is for you, and I pray that I will never forget the magic and whimsy and voice you have created, deep within my soul and the souls of your true readers. **

**Welcome, Brian, to the realm of your creation.**

**And may you ever enjoy your time here. **

**And here we go with chapter three. I hope that you enjoy it. All of you. And whether you do or not...please tell me what you think!**

There was, however unlikely it may seem, one group of creatures in the vicinity of Redwall who was not laughing that night.

Camped not a mile upstream of the lovely Abbey, an older female fox clad in a cloak of raven's feathers waited quietly outside a red silk tent in the middle of a bustling camp. She pushed back her hood tiredly and leaned against the flimsy material of her leader's shelter, fully exhausted from the scouting she had done the previous night. Gray was shot through her once-rich, now-ragged red fur. She caught a little of her reflection in a small puddle near her and looked away. She was growing old, and she disliked it.

Slowly the old fox turned her head so one ragged ear-the one that worked best-was pressed to the smooth fabric. Her back was to the pens of the slaves they had captured on the journey as of yet. She did not want to think of the many creatures that, if all went well, would soon be joining them in that pen, and then on the harsh march back to the Lynx Palace, so very far away. She was-though she did not like to face it-growing old, and her work was growing tiresome. But she had no doubt that someday soon-once her mistress, the Lynx Quinn, had passed away-the alternative would be much worse. She was determined to put that off as long as possible.

She closed her eyes and listened. A soft "...You're quite sure?" drifted through to her. It sounded like the voice of her friend, the much younger lady fox Mairon.

"Quite sure, unfortunately," rasped another voice. It was the doctor to the officers (the only ones who _deserved _doctors), a quiet old owl called Ramson.

"Well then, that's that," came another voice, briskly, a voice the old fox knew far too well as the voice of Isla, the power-hungry daughter of Quinn. "Mairon, is Jespice back yet?"

"I don't know, m'lady," said Mairon.

"Go and check, then," growled Isla. The old fox heard the sound of Mairon's pawsteps approaching the tent flap and quickly sat up straight, pretending to be watching the sun creep up slowly over the trees.

"Jespice!" said Mairon as she lifted the tent flap, her own cloak of dusky sparrow's feathers fluttering slightly round her shoulders. "Back already, dear?"

The old fox nodded. "Yes. The scouting was quite successful, if I do say so myself."

"Glad to hear it," said Mairon, not meeting Jespice's eyes.

"She's here?" Isla's head poked out of the tent. "Oh, excellent." Her eyes had that predatory gleam that made even the two foxes shudder inwardly. "Come in, Jespice dear, come in." She beckoned them inside and the pair followed, Jespice glancing nervously at Mairon, who refused to look at her. A nervous feeling began to crawl around in Jespice's stomach as Isla motioned for her to sit down on the luxurious pillows blanketing the floor of the tent.

"My lady, I am here to make my report-" began the old fox, struggling to keep all the nervousness she felt from her voice. Isla was not her favorite of the Lynxes who held her in their service. Isla wasn't as eccentric as her mother, but she was far more cold and calculating. That made her dangerous, and that meant that she was a threat. Jespice did not like threats she was not used to dealing with, and she was not used to dealing with Isla, who abruptly cut her off.

"My dear Jespice, I'm afraid I don't take reports from you anymore. You see-" here she sighed heavily, her voice laden with regret-"My dear old mum, the Lynx Quinn, passed away shortly before dawn on this very day. And Jespice, darling...well, I'm afraid that you're growing old like her...a little old to be wearing the raven's feathers, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps it's time to let someone younger have a shot at the higher ranks."

Jespice's heart beat faster. "My lady, if only you would let me finish my report...I can assure that you would find it quite interesting..." She wrung her paws nervously.

"I apologize, Jespice," said her new Mistress. "Hand the raven's feathers to Mairon, please." Jespice, trembling a little, unfastened her shining black cloak and passed it to her friend, who looked almost guilty and even apologetic, but still refused to meet Jespice's frightened gaze.

"My lady, if I may...perhaps I could wear the sparrow's feathers?" the old fox ventured in an almost desperate manner.

"Dear, dear," sighed Isla. "Your old age has made you naive. You have seen what happens when a creature is stripped of its cloak, do you not?" Jespice, trembling all over by now, did know.

A pair of weasels entered the tent with a set of slave's shackles. Jespice raised her paws over her head and they clamped them onto her wrists as tears ran down her gray-streaked muzzle. The weasels hauled her to her feet and began marching her towards the tent flap. They exited and Jespice blinked away the tears quickly. She would not let the slaves or soldiers think she was weak.

And thus, Jespice, one of the Lynxes' oldest and proudest servants lifted her head with as much frightened dignity as she could muster and marched in step with her escorts to the slave pens.

**Okay, so another note. PLEASE don't forget to review. I beg of you. And also, can you think of a better name for the stronghold of the Lynxes and their army? My name is stupid. I promise you'll get full credit and if you ever want to use it yourself, you can. Whether you have a name for me or not, please review.**


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